


Honesty and the Moon

by patiently_yours



Series: This Moment, Right Now [2]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 02:05:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4985854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patiently_yours/pseuds/patiently_yours
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phryne ponders the progression of her relationship with Jack, and Jack interrupts her pondering.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honesty and the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> These characters belong to Kerry Greenwood and Everycloud Productions. I have recently begun reading Kerry Greenwood's books, and I find my Phryne to be a mixture of screen and book Phrynes.

The moon hung full and low in the sky, casting its white light across the lawn in front of the Esplanade and filtering through the net curtains and onto the sheets of Phryne Fisher’s bed. The soft light turned Jack’s skin a shade paler than it usually was, making a Grecian statue of his sleeping form, and Phryne propped herself up on her elbow to watch him.

Tenderness welled in the back of her throat, making her long to reach out and trace his cheekbones, to feel the tickle of his eyelashes against her skin. Her fingers twitched, but she held herself firmly in check. She wasn’t sure yet if she was going to let this swell of emotions get the better of her.

Was this who she was now: Phryne Fisher, the woman who flew to Singapore and back in record time in order to return to the man that she loved?

Was this who she was: Phryne Fisher, the woman who loved the man in her bed?

Because it certainly looked like love, sending her furs to the wardrobe in the guest bedroom in order to make room for one of Jack’s suits and some of his shirts to hang alongside her dresses and trousers in her wardrobe. She had considered giving him use of the wardrobe in the guest room as his own, but had found that she couldn’t bear the thought of him as a guest. So she tolerated his sometimes-questionable ties and their presence in her chest of drawers (although she did not tolerate their presence anywhere in the proximity of her French lingerie, which she demanded still have the pride of place in the top drawer).

He was here to stay, her Jack Robinson, lodged firmly in the organ in the centre of her chest, and if she wanted to touch his eyelashes, she damn well would.

And if he awoke to see her heart in her eyes, then she would have to distract him until he forgot what he had seen.

“If fire could be started by how hard your brain is working, we’d be in an inferno right now.”

Phryne startled at Jack’s words, and the rasp of his sleep-heavy voice started a fire in its own right within her.

“Sounds lovely,” she murmured, shifting herself so that she leaned on his chest and tilting her head so that her eyes were in a shadow. “To die in a blaze with you, what a beautiful way to die.”

“Shakespeare did mention ‘little deaths,’” Jack commented, his fingers tangling in Phryne’s hair as he tucked it behind her ear. 

“It seems a bit late for Shakespeare, Jack,” admonished Phryne, who was becoming used to the Bard’s presence in her boudoir. She ducked her head to run her lips across Jack’s jaw. Her teeth nipped at his earlobe, and Jack rolled so that they were facing each other, the moonlight leaving Phryne’s face completely exposed.

“All that to say that I firmly intend to live, and not yet to die, with you, Miss Fisher,” Jack told her. “Or at least, only to die in a Shakespearean way.”

“That sounds very much like a proposition, Jack,” said Phryne, smirking at him.

“And that sounds like a distraction,” Jack said, his thumb swiping across her cheek. “You’re a miserable liar, Phryne.”

Phryne flexed her fingers and felt her heart jump into her mouth.

“Only with people that I love,” she told him, her tone failing to achieve the lightness she had gone for.

“I’ll make sure to use that to my advantage in the future,” Jack commented before pressing his mouth to Phryne’s neck. After a moment, he pulled back to see her face. “But for now, I intend to extract pure honesty from you.”

Phryne looked at him, at his tousled hair and moonlight-painted skin, and laughed out loud.

“Your interrogation techniques have changed, Inspector,” she commented. “Had you tried this one before, I’m sure that the ladies of Melbourne would have been much more forthcoming with their confessions to you.”

Jack grinned at Phryne. “The only confession I intend upon extracting from you is the non-verbal kind, Miss Fisher. And what do you say that we keep this one off the record?”

Phryne lifted an eyebrow at Jack, trying and failing to subdue a smirk.

“Feel free to keep it off your record, Inspector, but it shall most certainly be going on mine.”


End file.
